


The Second Law

by katherineerosee



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Experimentation, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Insanity, Major Illness, Medical Experimentation, Multi, Prophetic Visions, Science Experiments
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-09 07:40:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4339754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katherineerosee/pseuds/katherineerosee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He lost himself in the image of the grotesque severed head gripped in his hand, the wispy trails of mako floating up from the reactor’s core, the noxious murmurs of <i>you found me</i> and <i>let them burn</i> ringing in his ears until he noticed the familiar sensation of Masamune piercing through soft flesh, grating bone and firm cartilage. </p>
<p>I’m so sorry, Cloud. I’m so very sorry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Injection

**Author's Note:**

> Alright so I started on another story - I know, I really should still be working on my others but, Sefikura; do I need to say more?
> 
> This was originally going to be a one shot, but about half way through I thought to hell with it, and just went with the flow. Because of this, I have no idea how long it's going to take me to get out updates - especially since my other stories are pretty much pre-written and I still take forever with updates - but I'll try.
> 
> Also, "The Second Law" is a reference to Arthur C. Clarke's three "Laws of Prediction": "the only way of discovering the limits of the possible is to venture a little way past them into the impossible." 
> 
> Yeah.

A beating, pulsing rhythm underneath his skin, like the flare and abate of a flickering flame, that’s what his heartbeat felt like. A drum, insistent and loud in its beat, slamming against his ribcage as he stumbled through his apartment. Everything spun around him, swaying and swinging, and he wondered if perhaps this was what drunkenness felt like. His large hand shot in front of him, his palm pressing against the cream of the wall and his fingers splayed across it to balance him. His stomach lurched and turned violently, the contents threatening to spill out over his lips at any moment. Releasing a groan he slid down the wall beside him, head tipping forward to rest against the doorjamb with a quiet _thunk_.

His day had started off so simply; eyes snapping open at dawn, legs spilling out under the cover of his bed as he rose with the sun. The soft lingering scent of slightly burnt coffee stung his nose as he pulled on his uniform, the scorching black liquid soothing to his throat and leaving a pleasant tang on his tastebuds. The cup abandoned on his pristine kitchen sink and sword sheathed carefully at his hip, he swept out of his apartment and out into silent corridors. The training room had held the soft buzzing as normal; the VR system always was rather noisy, but the serene plains of Junon’s countryside was as muted as it ever would be. He’d swung his sword to his heart’s content, mind fuzzy through the familiar motions, thoughts drifting to golden halos of hair and dazzling blue eyes as the lethal steel of his blade carved through the air. The muffled static overhead broke the steady cadence of sword through air, and splintered his musings like pebbles grating across the surface of water.

"Up already?" The voice was cutting, nasal in its quality, and so infuriatingly familiar. Head swivelled upwards, he caught sight of the archetypal hunch that accompanied near all scientists, the rounded glass frames and dark, greasy hair. "Neither of us are creatures of subtlety, nor pleasantries, thus I will not waste my time," the thin glass that covered his onyx eyes glinted brightly in the artificial light of the console room, flashing like warning beacons, "let us head down to the labs, hmm?"

The adrenaline and mako cocktail flooding his veins shot his perceptions, and thus with all the swiftness of cornered prey he’d sheathed his sword, boots squeaking softly against the now plastic floors of the VR room, and followed the scientist down to the labs.

It had gone downhill from there. The fluorescent lighting glared harshly on his sensitive pupils, and shone brilliantly in his hair. As his boots left the ground and he settled himself on the high steel table centred in the basement lab, the professor had turned away, muttering to himself things like _I wonder if the reaction will be immediate?_ and _perhaps the mako in his system will prevent the effects, another test subject will be in order_. The words were muted, almost hidden under the staccato rhythm of clinking beakers and sloshing liquids. The acrid stench of mako permeated the air of the lab like decaying flesh and left him light headed within moments.

"This will be interesting indeed." Hojo’s tone was ecstatic and caused a bubble of worry to ripple in his stomach. With a swish of his white coat, the professor turned on his heel, a needle full of a molasses-like clear liquid sticky in the thin glass tube. Seeing the quirk in his brows and twitch of his lips, Hojo smirked, "And no, this isn’t your monthly mako injection," his steps echoed deafeningly in the still lab, "though it may become a regular; depending on your reaction of course." And with that the needle was jabbed into the slim skin of his left wrist.

The elevator ride back to his apartment was terrifying. Everything was a blurry incoherent thought, and the bubble of worry in his stomach became a heavy knot of nausea that thumped against the walls of his torso. The shaking started in his hands on the twenty-first floor, a mild tremor that made his iron grip on the rails of the elevator slip, but by the forty-second floor, it felt as though all the bones in his body were stirring and shivering in their places, aching and creaking to leap from their joints and join the outside world. When his knees gave an ominous crack that nearly had him gracing the floor with his face, he cursed Hojo to the deepest, darkest pits of hell.

His hands struggled with the keys, the metal seeming even smaller in his large hands than usual, and as he’d finally been able to push the damn thing into the lock, a pitchy squeal was the only warning he had as it snapped clean in two. _I can’t even control my own strength, what has he done to me?_

And so here he was, head tipped forward to greet the wall, the feverish skin of his forehead abated against the cool doorjamb of his bedroom, palms pressed flat either side of his head and body crumpled beneath him like a pool of useless bone.

_"Sephiroth!"_

_How far gone am I, if I didn’t even notice Cloud’s arrival?_

Small pale hands came fluttering about his large frame, a cool palm pressed against his searing forehead, slim fingers wrapping gently around his bandaged wrist and slowly straightening him from the loose ball he had curled into.

"What happened?" Cloud’s sweet alto was as soft as always, but a sharp tang of panic had seeped through to the surface, a hitch, a chatter of teeth. He was genuinely worried, about _him_. It had taken quite some time – a hell of a lot of time, according to Zack – for Sephiroth to grasp that Cloud actually _cared,_ and that he wasn’t interested for his money or power or pride. _Even now it’s hard not to doubt._

The petite blond pulled him to his feet, dainty yet calloused hands grasping at his elbows carefully, and surprisingly broad shoulders hefting Sephiroth’s – definitely larger than him – mass. With little finesse and a lot of determination, Cloud tugged and pulled at Sephiroth until the tall man could collapse on the bed with a weak huff of discomfort. "Hojo did this, didn’t he?"

_Just how well do you know me, Cloud? Because I’m sure there’s not a square inch that you can’t see through._

He let out a small grunt as confirmation, head lolling to the side against his right shoulder. The simple movement caused his harrowing migraine to gain intensity, the pain swiftly lurching to dizzying heights. Cracking open a single sickly mako green eye, his gaze caught on Cloud – his sweet, caring little Cloud – fluttering about at his bedside table, searching for something, and he felt a strange tugging in his chest.

It was just below his fourth rib – directly above the bottom half of his heart, if his biology studies as a child served true – and it felt akin to strings, pulling and tugging and yanking. Staring at Cloud for a moment longer caused the incessant pull to heighten, and images began to flicker before his eyes.

A fire, scorching and ferocious as if it had a will of its own, consuming a town and leaving nothing but ashes and bitter memories in its wake, bands of monsters – an army, almost – mutated and grotesque in appearance and deadened in mind, as they were pulled like marionettes; manipulated like puppets, death, war, loss, and a sickly pale face, macabre in quality, soulless crimson eyes and silvery grey hair, a woman – _creature_ – with a voice like honey and rotted flesh calling _come to me, my son. Watch as the world burns, it is only a matter of time._  

He recoiled, all the muscles in his body tensing and flinching as he curled in on himself, as if gripping his head between shaking fingers would protect him from the revolting horror he had witnessed – _prophesised._

"Sephiroth?" _Oh Gaia, Cloud._ More images – visions – fluttered behind his eyelids, ones that would forever burn into the tender flesh of his brain. Cloud, dangling off the edge of his blade, teeth gritted and hands shaking, Cloud, staring in horror as his blade seeped through the soft body and bone of a young woman in a rosy dress, Cloud, eyes filled with disgust and hatred and _betrayal_ as Masamune clashed again and again with a large and intricate broadsword in the blonde’s tight grip, Cloud _once again_ hanging off the edge of his sword, his legs swaying and head drooped. The nausea that had plagued him since his little _trip_ down into the labs finally won, and he rolled to his feet, ignoring the dizziness and rushed into the bathroom.

Staring down into the sink, he could spot more bile and blood than rejected food, and that alone was enough to further worry Cloud, who stood like a sentinel over his shoulder. "Oh Gaia," His cool touch was again on Sephiroth’s forehead, but this time he flinched back; the horrific images still scarred into tissue and blurred across vision. "What’s wrong?" Cloud was so concerned, almost scared as he stared at him, scared _for_ him; the man that had just seen himself murder his beloved. _Oh Gaia, Cloud_ , he repeated.

"You’re scaring me," it was no more than a whisper, a breath of air, and yet it seemed deafening in his pounding eardrums, the sweet alto twisted into that deep baritone of his waking nightmares. _There’s nothing I don’t cherish!_ His face was so alike and yet so very different from the one a few inches from his own, morphed and contorted, anguish and terror painted across once scar free features.

His body reacted on its own; long arms stretching out and hooking under Cloud’s ribs, pulling the infantryman immeasurably close, torso to torso, his head buried in the crook of Cloud’s neck and his legs unfolding out to accommodate the small body between them. He couldn’t bear to watch him any longer, his image fading before his eyes to be overlapped by ones that didn’t currently – but would eventually, he was sure – exist. So he held him close, closer than anything he had before, fingers clutching desperately at steel blue fabric. Wordlessly, Cloud held him too, one hand resting at the nape of his bowed neck, slim fingers combing through silvery hair, the other gently rubbing his back in tiny circles. "You’re okay, I swear." He murmured against Sephiroth’s shoulder.

"I’m more worried about you." _And how I’m apparently going to murder you._

Cloud’s tinkling laugh was startling, soft and feathery against his leather clad shoulder, the warm caress of breath felt through the fabric. The laugh he so adored, akin to the gentlest of spring breezes and the mist of ocean spray in summer, was maddening now. It made him want to pull back and grab him by the shoulders and shake him, questioning _how could you laugh at something so utterly terrifying and possible?_ But that wouldn’t be fair, Cloud didn’t know – hadn’t _seen_ – and thus could only watch as Sephiroth struggled to contain himself. "How about we get you to bed?" Amusement was there, lingering in his tone, but was overpowered by unease, a sense of apprehension.

Gently pulling back – as gently as possible with Sephiroth clinging to him like a child to its mother – he grabbed Sephiroth by his elbows and once again directed him back to his bed. He pulled the pauldrons off silently, the coat soon following and a plain white shirt taking its place, the heavy combat boots falling with a ringing _thump_ each as they landed on cool wooden floor. He’d grabbed a cloth on the way out of the bathroom, dampening it in the freshly rinsed sink, which he laid against Sephiroth’s forehead, "I’ll be right back," and he fled from the room.

* * *

 

Cloud’s head collided with the kitchen wall quietly, the unforgiving plaster rattling him into awareness, leaving a dull ringing in his ears and a quick blur across his vision. _What the hell was that?_ Sephiroth had never acted like _that_ before; usually his monthly mako injections left him lethargic, with some flu like symptoms – of course less severe though, as his body was more than capable of expelling an actual flu – but he had never been so clingy, so disorientated, so _scared_. It was like he wasn’t even there, his eyes unfocused and his jaw clenched tightly. He kept whispering _no_ under his breath, a mantra to a question unasked – well at least unasked by anyone actually _there._ Another thing that bothered him was the lack of mako glow; after each mako injection Sephiroth’s usually luminescent irises would simply gleam, smouldering like mako green coals burning in fire. Even Zack’s eyes would glow after the injections, and yet this time Sephiroth’s eyes seemed duller than usual, the already cat-like pupils even thinner – like a serpent, he realised with a shudder – and the green of his eyes was more of a damp mossy green than malachite. _Just what did Hojo do to you?_

Pulling his PHS out of his pocket, he stared for a moment, contemplating the consequences, before sending the message.

_I think I need some help here, there’s something wrong with Sephiroth._

Zack’s reply was almost instant; _be there in five._

Sighing in relief, he started his search for some kind of paracetamol – one that would _actually_ affect a SOLDIER’s swift metabolism – that would cure that insistent migraine Sephiroth was trying to hide from him. _I know you, Sephiroth, there’s nothing you can hide from me._

* * *

 

The visions had cleared at last, Cloud’s burning cerulean stare still lingering, but nowhere near as present as before, however the voice was back. It was strange; a siren song to lead him through the dark, alluring and tender, but there was a crack, a hitch in the soprano that held decay, a rotted note that pierced his heart like wire. _Come to me,_ it whispered, emphatic in a way that reminded him of crawling insects corroding and eating at his flesh, _I’ll make it all better,_ – why did the voice remind him of those stories Professor Gast used to tell him as a child; the succubus that would lure in men and take their souls? – _my son_.

_My son? Was this–_

"Hey buddy, what’s wrong?" The voice was not Cloud’s gentle hum, but a deeper, richer tenor, with cheerful notes bubbling at the edges; Zack Fair. Eyes opening wildly, Sephiroth glared around the room until he spotted the brunette lounging at the edge of his bed, bright mako eyes boring into his own. Despite the jaunty tone of his voice, his expression was serious; eyebrows pulled down and a frown tugging at the corners of his lips, eyes focused solely on him and back straight – which looked rather odd paired with his dangling legs that swung much like a child’s.

"Zack," he confirmed, voice croaky and broken, "Nothing’s wrong. What are you doing here?" He couldn’t clear the obstruction in his throat, a vice around his trachea that squeezed whenever he spoke.

Raising a dark eyebrow, Zack turned his head slightly to eye the bedroom door, a contemplative look on his face, "well," he hummed in thought, turning back to face Sephiroth again, "Spike messaged me."

Sighing through his nose, Sephiroth rose into a sitting position, pulling the damp cloth off his forehead and clenching it in a fist. "Just like I told Cloud, I’m _fine_."

Ignoring him – which only Zack dared to do – he just hummed again, shifting closer to Sephiroth’s feet, crossing one foot underneath his body, "You’re scaring him Seph," _that damn nickname again_ , "he’s really worried about you, and if Spike’s worried, than so am I."

"I don’t know how many times I can repeat this, I’m–"

"That wasn’t mako, was it?" Cloud was standing in the doorway, a glass filled with tap-water in one hand and the strongest pain medication he had in the other, eyebrows furrowed and a frown marring his lips. "Whatever _that man_ did to you," Cloud had never liked Hojo, and with good reason, "it wasn’t your monthly mako injection, was it?" Though he was questioning him, it sounded more like a statement than an inquiry, as if he already knew – this was something Cloud did often; testing to see if you’ll lie to him, something Zack dubbed as "the parent thingy" – but it wasn’t accusatory. Demanding, yes, in that concerned, rightfully angry way of his, but not accusatory.

He met Cloud’s eye head-on, his stomach still flipping painfully from the horrific images that plagued him not moments ago, and decided that – "no, it wasn’t mako, I don’t know what it was" – the truth was the best option.

Cloud and Zack frowned simultaneously – they were best friends after all – and shared meaningful looks. "You don’t know what it was?" Zack queried, head tilting in an imitation of his namesake. There was something utterly wrong with that, he realised. Hojo always informed him of the _tests_ he was going to perform – it was perhaps the only moral quality about the man – and yet this time there wasn’t even a hint, just that sadistic gleam in his eyes. He ran through the brief conversation in the labs; _"This will be interesting indeed, and no, this isn’t your monthly mako injection, though it may become a regular; depending on your reaction of course."_

"He said it may become a regular injection if I react well to it." His voice was hoarse as his stomach lurched again. The thought made him sick; experiencing these strange and terrifying visions every month, watching his Cloud be brutally murdered at his own hands? He could taste bile in the back of his throat.

"His definition of "react well" is very different from ours, or anyone else’s for that matter," Zack’s worried murmur snapped him from his thoughts, "he’d probably classify _this_ as a good reaction, and would make you go through it each month." _So Zack thinks so too._

Cloud stepped forward silently, handing the glass and medication to Sephiroth, who accepted it gratefully, and waved his hand at Zack in a vague gesture of _move over_. Shifting until his back tipped onto the mattress behind him, Zack stared up at Cloud who quickly took his previous position. "We can’t let that happen." Cloud’s voice was filled with a quiet fury; the kind that seeped into people slowly and shrewdly, and yet spread like wildfire. "We won’t – _I_ won’t – let that happen."

A surge of affection rose in Sephiroth as he gazed at the young man. Cloud was only an infantryman at this point – though the next SOLDIER exam was coming up rather soon, and everyone was sure Cloud would make it this time – and yet he made promises like that. The most amazing thing was that Sephiroth – and Zack too, based on his determined grin – completely and wholeheartedly believed him. He was Cloud, and he had just promised them he would not allow Hojo to further toy with Sephiroth, and they both knew he was going to keep that promise.

His hand reached out and gently grasped Cloud’s, his long fingers encompassing almost the entirety of the blonde’s hand, and he felt a spark. Not the usual spark of endearment; the flash of knowledge that Cloud had his heart cradled in his hands, but would never drop it, this was different. Adrenaline, it almost felt like, the rush that accompanied slashes from blades, gunfire – or if it was Genesis, literal fire – it caused his migraine to amplify, excruciating waves of agony gripping his temples like hands intending to crush. He wrenched his hand from the tender grasp, his hands literally gripping his head as he curled back on himself.

_You’ll end them all, my dear, sweet son._


	2. The More The Merrier (Except In This Case)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is probably not going to end well for Zack, and he knows it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to wait until I had completely finished the third chapter to post this one - so that I could stay a bit ahead, instead of just going with it - but apparently I am completely incapable of sticking to a plan, so, yeah. Here we go! 
> 
> Anyway, uh, enjoy!

"What the hell was that?"

Only a few moments ago, Zack, Cloud and Sephiroth had all been sitting on Sephiroth’s bed, determined grins and worried brows, when Sephiroth suddenly yanked his hand from Cloud’s, limbs curling up into his torso as he gripped his head tightly. His fingernails had left crescent shaped bloody marks across his forehead and temples, Zack discovered as he tried to break Sephiroth’s strained grip. After prying his hands away and pinning them by his sides – much like Cloud had done to his legs – he had released a low pitched whine, akin to a wounded animal, and his iridescent eyes had flared wildly around the room; as if he didn’t know why he couldn’t move. Eventually he’d slumped back into unconsciousness – after a lot of soothing words from Cloud, none of which were able to calm his painfully arched spine and rigid, tense muscles – and Zack and Cloud breathed a sigh of relief.

Even in sleep, if you could call it that, Sephiroth was restless. His limbs were twitching as if they were being pulled, and he kept muttering incoherent strings of words under his breath. Cloud had gently laid the damp cloth back on his forehead, planted a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth – which had Zack wrinkling his nose and looking away; although the two of them were still really new to this whole relationship thing – two months in, he thought idly – and they were both still learning what made the other comfortable and what didn’t, and thus affection was few and far between and never in public, the image of two of his best friends kissing still grossed him out a bit; it was like watching his parents kiss – and the two left the room.

Cloud was currently sitting on the edge of the kitchen island, head resting in his right palm and eyes facing the cream tiles, and Zack was leaning back against the counter, arms crossed and mouth a thin line.

"I don’t know," Cloud was scared, Zack could tell, his thoughts racing and his voice a mere whisper, "he was doing that before; when I first got here, and again a few minutes before you arrived." His eyes caught Zack’s, "It’s like he’s not there…or perhaps like _we’re_ not _here._ And it’s scary."

A large hand shot out and snagged Cloud’s, the callouses across Zack’s fingers warm and familiar, and his grip as firm as it had always been. "Hey, it’s gonna be alright, Spike," he pulled Cloud’s smaller body off the island, guiding him gently to the couch and gesturing for him to sit beside him, his own legs immediately curling beneath his large frame, boots forgotten on the carpet, "now, tell exactly what he did before."

With his legs clutched to his chest, arms folded around them and chin resting on his knees, Cloud met Zack’s mako gaze, a deep breath escaping him. "Well, at first he just kinda stared at me, with this, blank, deadened look in his eyes, but it was more like he was looking _through_ me than at me," he took another deep breath, "and then he started muttering _no_ under his breath, like a chant or something, and then suddenly he just lurched up and shot into the bathroom."

"And then what? What happened in the bathroom? I assume you followed him." Zack goaded him on, eyes bright with concern, a thoughtful frown lingering on his features.

"Well, he threw up, but it was mostly bile and well… _blood_ , which I’m pretty sure isn’t normal, even for a SOLDIER." Judging by the way Zack’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline and the slight gaping of his mouth, he’d hit the nail on the head. _So I was right, that really isn’t normal._ "I felt his forehead for signs of fever and he flinched away from me," even now it still hurt to think that Sephiroth had flinched away from _him_ , "and then he stared at me again, not for as long this time, and grabbed me and just held me, really close to him," his eyes flickered to the ceiling, "I think that’s actually the first time he’s ever initiated a hug, or any contact really."

 _Just what the hell was in that injection?_ Zack’s thoughts were racing a mile a minute. Sephiroth? Being _clingy_? That was a new one, the man practically radiated arctic winds, his heart encased in a glacier. And throwing up bile and _blood_? That is _definitely not normal._

_Perhaps I should ask Angeal; he always seems to know how to fix things._

"I don’t think that’s a good idea, Zack." Cloud was eyeing him thoughtfully, azure eyes narrowed slightly and legs still curled to his chest.

_How did he know what I was thinking?_

"Because you weren’t thinking it," a sheepish grin spread across the brunet’s face and Cloud narrowed his eyes further, "you know that you tend to run your mouth when you’re nervous."

"Why wouldn’t that be a good idea? Angeal, and hell, even _Genesis_ know a lot about Seph, and being First Classes themselves, they’d definitely have more insight into these sort of things than a lowly infantryman and an awesome Second Class."

Cloud growled slightly at the lowly remark, but sighed at the logic. Unfortunately, _this kind_ of logic very rarely worked when it came to Sephiroth, no matter the fact that the man used it in abundance. The man just hated people invading his privacy, even if they were his closest friends – it was a worrying surprise the man didn’t kick Zack out of his apartment when he fluttered into his bedroom; just another reason to wonder at his condition – inviting the two First Classes over and discussing this with them was definitely a cross of his precious privacy. "You know exactly what Sephiroth is like; do that and he’ll just shut down and not talk to any of us."

Zack sighed too, flopping back against the suede of the chocolate hued couch, head lolling to the side and resting on his own shoulder. "You’re right, the man is practically a shut in."

They both barked out a nervous laugh, hoping that perhaps one of the First Classes – both, preferably – would just suddenly get an urge to spar and would arrive here themselves; then at least they could _accidentally_ let slip what was happening, and neither could be held accountable. Apparently luck was just not on their side.

The blare of Zack’s PHS startled the two back into reality, arms jerking in surprise and legs unfolding themselves as both pairs of blue eyes focused on the flashing screen on the coffee table.

"Heh," Zack scratched the back of his head lightly, other arm reaching over to silence the insistent device, "sorry about that." His eyebrows scrunched as he read the name of the caller, face paling as he recalled his previous engagement – one that he had blown off as soon as Cloud had messaged him. _Well perhaps luck is on our side, well not mine, but still._ Clearing his throat nervously he opened the lid of the PHS, eyes wandering around the room.

"Hey, Angeal," he cleared his throat again, "about that training session–"

_"You mean the one we’re having now? The one you’re not at?"_

"Heh, yeah that one." Zack gulped as Cloud winced in sympathy. "Listen, something kinda came up–"

 _"Zack,"_ his tone was scolding, a little patronising; paternal, and it made Zack grimace – whenever Angeal took that tone, Zack always felt as if he was six years old again, and his mother had caught him with his hand in cookie batter, the spoon still sitting in his mouth – he chewed on his lip lightly, _"what did I tell you about making excuses? And the importance of consideration? I’ve been sitting here for ten minutes waiting on you, and yet you haven’t even called to let me know what was happening. I mean, what possible excuse could you have that would justify–"_

"Seph’s sick!" Cloud glared at him from across the couch, mouthing threats and kicking at him with surprisingly strong legs. Each jab of foot against chest made him wince, so before Cloud could get his hands on him he shot to his feet, dancing away from the couch and keeping a cautious eye on the infuriated blond. "Yeah, there’s something wrong with Sephiroth, so Cloud called me to help."

_"Sephiroth? Sick?"_

"Yep," _I am so dead, if Sephiroth doesn’t shish-kabob me, then Cloud’s gonna kick my ass. This may have been a bad idea._ "Sorry I didn’t call or message you; but Spike and I were just so swamped with taking care of Seph that I kinda forgot."

 _"What’s wrong with him?"_ Angeal sounded concerned now, his tone still slightly scolding, but with a worried edge to it, _"Sephiroth doesn’t get sick, and his monthly injection shouldn’t be for another week and a half, should it?"_

"It’s kinda hard to explain what’s wrong, and yeah, this wasn’t his mako injection," his voice dropped to nothing more than a murmur, low enough that Cloud could barely hear it from his tensed position on the couch, "Hojo did _something_ to him, and we can’t figure it out."

_"I’ll be right there."_

"Thanks, Geal."

_"Don’t call me–"_

Zack snapped his PHS shut abruptly, hands rising to each side of his head in defence, eyes wide and pleading and back bowed into a slight slump, "alright Spike, I get that you’re pissed but–"

And Cloud lunged.

* * *

 

When Angeal arrived at Sephiroth’s large apartment, the place was as silent as it always was, and the two boys sat quietly at the large suede couch. Cloud had his head resting against one palm, the other hand lounging across the top of his knees which were pulled to his chest. He looked tense; a crease to his pale brows, the corners of his lips drooping and his posture stiff. Zack was sitting on the far end of the couch, socked feet lightly tapping the carpet in random rhythms, one arm gingerly holding his midsection, the other arm extended up so he could gently poke at a freshly blackened eye. His pout was obvious, even from across the room, and his eyes kept wandering back to the blond, the blue watery and sorry; the perfect embodiment of his nickname.

A bemused smirk wound onto Angeal’s face, eyebrows raising to his hairline as he eyed his _Second Class SOLDIER_ student who had obviously been viciously punched by the petite infantryman. "I’m guessing that you weren’t supposed to inform me of this, were you Zack?"

He turned his pout to his mentor, his guilty eyes still lingering on the irritated blond, "you’re not gonna punch me too, are ya Geal?"

His nose wrinkled, "I might; if you keep calling me that."

Zack’s pout deepened.

"So, what exactly is wrong with Sephiroth?" The burly man settled himself in the only remaining seat; the armchair that directly faced the couch. "It must be something pretty bad if you ditched a training session."

Blanching, Zack rubbed the back of his neck, one hand still prodding at the bruised and tender flesh of his eye. "We don’t know what Hojo did to him, not even Seph knows really," his eyes flashed to Cloud when he nodded his head in confirmation, "Sephiroth said it wasn’t his mako injection, but Hojo _did_ inject him with something."

Cloud leaned forward, attempting to shake off the tenseness of his shoulders and failing. "I came by an hour or two ago, because Sephiroth said he’d help me with a sword kata I’ve been stuck on," he paused to suck in a breath, "when I came by, he was… _crumpled_ on the floor," he eyed Angeal again, as if asking _does he normally do that?_ When the man’s eyebrows shot into his hairline and his eyes widened minutely, he understood that as _no, he doesn’t._ "I didn’t know what to do, and when I felt his forehead, he felt feverish. I thought that maybe he’d been given his mako injection early, or perhaps I had the date wrong, but this was different. He wasn’t acting like he usually does when he gets his mako injection."

"How so?" _Crumpled on the floor? Feverish? That doesn’t sound like mako, or Sephiroth._

"Well, usually it’s like the flu – which you, of course, already know," he sounded nervous now, scared even "and this time he had that, the fever, the migraine, his voice sounded all scratchy and hoarse, and he was really lethargic, but there were…other things."

Zack leaned forward too, elbows resting on his knees and hands clasped together as if in prayer, his face turned serious – never a good sign – as his eyes gained a thoughtful look. "He was, well, delirious, for lack of better word," _delirious?_ "It was like we weren’t even there, or perhaps he wasn’t."

"After I dragged him into his bedroom to lie down, he kept mumbling _no, no_ , under his breath," Cloud’s eyes wandered over to the hallway that lead to the master bedroom, where Angeal assumed Sephiroth was, his voice barely a sigh, "his eyes were unfocused and he kept turning his head this way and that; as if he was hallucinating or something." The young infantryman was scared, that much was obvious to Angeal, and rightfully so, he supposed. If even Angeal hadn’t seen Sephiroth – or heard, in this case – in this state, then why would Cloud have?

"When his eyes finally focused on me again, he just ran off into the bathroom, where he threw up – which is again pretty normal for _mako_ injections – but this time it was more bile and blood than anything else," his soft voice cracked slightly, "and then he just, _hugged me,_ really, really, tight."

"I thought I’d never see the day _Sephiroth_ of all people would initiate contact with _anyone_." Apparently both Cloud and Zack had had the same thought, as both erupted in nervous, stuttering chuckles that broke off into even more nervous silence. This was more serious than Angeal had anticipated.

"When I got here, he was fine – for the most part – but he wasn’t lost in his own world. At first it seemed like perhaps the fever had just been more intense than Spike or I thought it would be, but then he told us he didn’t actually _know_ what Hojo had injected him with," Zack took a deep breath after his swiftly rambled sentence, "and that’s when we started to get nervous."

"Then what happened?" _I think I can understand why Cloud wanted to keep this on the low down._

"Well, we were just talking, then all of a sudden he just kinda curled up – into like a ball, his arms and legs clutched to his chest – and he wouldn’t let go of his head, his grip was like a vice," Zack sounded almost exasperated, and Cloud’s heavy sigh only intensified the feeling, "it took me _forever_ to finally pry him off, and it took Cloud even longer to coax him out of what must have been the most uncomfortable position _ever_ ; we had to hold him down because he kept spasming and twitching."

"It was like he was having a seizure," Cloud whispered, his legs coming back up, off the floor into his awaiting chest "and he kept whimpering, like an injured animal or something, I thought–I thought he was gonna–" Zack gently pulled the blond over, under his arm in a comforting gesture; as he looked as if he was going to go into hysterics, though no tears escaped his eyes.

Silence caught the room, a fog of echoing noises – the clock ticking, the faint _ding_ of the elevator in the hallway outside the apartment, the even fainter blare of traffic in Midgar’s busy streets – that descended over the three in a crescendo. When it became deafening, Angeal cleared his throat lightly and shifted in his seat until he could watch both the hallway arch and the two young men before him. "I understand why you wanted to keep this quiet Cloud, and even after hearing it, I’m not sure how Sephiroth will react to three separate people knowing of this, but I’m grateful you told me anyway." He considered Cloud for a moment, taking in the tension of his shoulders and spine, the tight but steady grip his curled fist had on his pant leg, the decrease of his eyebrows, the frown around his mouth, and his wild but determined cerulean blue eyes, and knew that despite his fear in regard to Sephiroth’s safety – a fact that Angeal greatly admired and Genesis referred to as _a chocobo protecting a dragon – but still adorable_ – Cloud would not let this fear hinder him, but instead use it to his advantage.

_What a strange little infantryman, indeed._

"I assume Sephiroth is sleeping?"

"Something close to it," Zack muttered quietly, arm still looped over Cloud’s shoulder which he squeezed softly.

"When he wakes, I’ll deal with his anger, alright? I’m going to help you all figure this out."

His student brightened considerably at that, even Cloud looked mildly relieved at the prospect, body finally loosening – a bit, mind you – from the tension. "Really? You’ll help us? Thanks, Geal."

He frowned again, a scolding look sent Zack’s way, "I swear on my honour, and _stop calling me that._ "

* * *

 

A catch in his throat, a hitch, a fish hook draped across his larynx digging into the tender flesh of his throat and ripping across in jerking, stuttering motions that had him reeling for air, a pool, a bubble of air under the waves in which he was trapped. It was terrifying, limbs twitching and shuddering after being held down for so long, his hair fluttered out behind him in coils and curls of silver strands, and his pale skin was illuminated with splotches of sickly mako green and deep blacky-blue shadows. He could move, could extend his arms and legs about a foot in each direction before he met resistance; the cool silver, grey and black of what was unmistakably a specimen tank. It was as if he was dyed wax; its shape bending and twisting as it was heated by incandescent lights, droplets of colour wielded inside a glass cage. He was caught in a mako tank, the thick, treacle like liquid rising and falling around him, surrounding him, confining him with shattered memories – _mirages, visions, delusions_ – that would be his own.

_"Infinite in mystery is the gift of the Goddess, We seek it thus, and take to the sky, Ripples form on the water’s surface, The wandering soul knows no rest."_

_"LOVELESS, Act I."_

_"Hm. You remembered."_

_"How could I not? When you’ve beaten it into my head."_

The words seemed slurred, slow, delayed beyond the glass, the heavy tresses of tainted green wading around him and causing the scene before him to blur in pallets of green and black hues. _Is it Genesis, Angeal and myself? In…Junon?_ It was difficult to tell.

As the view before him effervesced into streams of colour and light, a dull thudding, akin to the beat of a bird’s wing, settled just above his eyes, wrapping around his head from his temples to the base of his skull. Everything ached in blurring, dizzying waves of pain.

_The sword spun rapidly in the air for a moment, its sharpened and iridescent edges glaring in the artificial sunlight before it decided its trajectory. It was merely a chip in the leather, a splatter of blood almost unnoticed when surrounded by red, as the shattered tip of the blade clipped Genesis’ shoulder._

_It was nothing, Genesis insisted it was nothing, even as Angeal fussed over him. Both – all three – of them knew that, and yet the foreboding tingle down three spines was not left ignored._

One palm pressed flat against the burning cool of the tank glass and the other gripping his head – again; this seemed to be a habit as of late – he continued to watch through squinted eyes as the image swirled once more into something else.

_He was standing before a young woman who was clothed mainly in green and had a katana in hand, both parties remaining still and calm, yet each with a hand on their blades._

_"Tell me, General Sephiroth of ShinRa, do you want to fight for a reason?"_

He could hear mumblings – ones beyond, outside of the tank – and yet not even in the visions before him. They seemed to be directly within his mind, but vastly different from the other _voice_ he’s been hearing. There are two – maybe three – he can distinguish, one sweet, calm and soft, the others are  gruff and low, deep baritones in contrast to the first voice. They seemed achingly familiar, just out of reach and yet so close.

_Genesis – who was quite a bit older, judging by the silvery grey quality of his hair, something that Sephiroth was surprised he could see through the mako haze – was sitting on the second last step of a staircase in what appeared to be a Mako Reactor. Sephiroth stood facing away from his long-time friend, his back to the once auburn haired man._

_"_ _Whether your words...are lies created to deceive me...or the truth...that I have sought all my life...it makes no difference. You will rot._ _"_

_Lies? The truth? What exactly did he say?_

"…iroth!" The muted voices inside his head were getting louder, closer, until they were shouting, screaming, piercing his ears with each vibrating note.

"Sephiroth!" There was pressure everywhere, hands gripping his arms, legs, torso, a pain unlike anything he’d known before was centred in his head and was spreading down into his chest. That incessant tug was back, ripping at his skin, his being. He felt a cool touch against his cheek, a palm pressed flat against the flaming skin, _Cloud._

His eyes snapped open, wide and glaring, his pupils completely dilated into wide, thick slits – almost like regular pupils now – causing even the dim light of his bedroom to be blinding. A hiss escaped his teeth as he blinked rapidly to rid himself of the black splotches across his vision. Cloud was next to his head, one hand pressed firmly onto his chest and the other resting gently against his cheek. His cerulean eyes burned into his own, mouth a thin line and worry hovering at his brows. His chin bumped against his collarbone as he stared down at his captors – _saviours_ – Zack was leaning over the bed, strong hands clasped down around his arms, securing them against the mattress in a vice grip, and Angeal – _when did he get here?_ – was pressing down on his legs, both hands splayed across his kneecaps, coiling muscles tight with tension.

"What," his voice was raspy and hoarse, as if he hadn’t spoken in days, clearing his throat quietly he tried again, "what happened?"

Zack released a sigh as the three clambered off of him, though Cloud kept his palm flat against his cheek – something he would not object to anytime soon – and straightened his back. "Well," he eyed his three companions for a moment, "you started spazzing out again." He said firmly, as if that clarified anything.

Angeal released his own sigh at his student’s words. Crossing his arms over his broad chest he gave Zack a reprimanding glance before turning back to Sephiroth, a look in his eyes he couldn’t recognise, one he assumed Zack would refer to as _fatherly ­_ – though he personally had no frame of reference, and thus couldn’t agree or disagree with the Second Class. "We were sitting in the lounge room and we could hear you…calling out, so we came to investigate and when we arrived you were thrashing about."

_Calling out?_

"I appreciate your help," his tone was curt as he realised what Angeal’s presence meant; either Cloud or Zack – he assumed it was Zack, as the young man followed Angeal around much like an actual puppy would – had informed the man he was _sick_ , or something of that nature, and thus his old friend had come to assist him. Help – or more accurately _attention_ – was not what he needed nor wanted right now. "But could I perhaps be left alone?" If nothing else, he was polite.

Zack’s pout turned to a more serious frown, his arms coming to cross themselves over his chest, his posture a perfect reflection of his beloved mentor’s. "We left you alone to sleep before, and then _this_ happened. _Perhaps_ it’s not the best idea to leave you alone, at least not right now."

 _I will not be babied._ He grit his teeth, jaw clenching slightly under Cloud’s gentle touch, and hands curling into fists at his sides. "I would like to be left _alone._ "

Angeal took a step forward, his own jaw clenched, and looked perfectly ready to give Sephiroth a tongue lashing in the form of one of his well-renowned lectures, before an angry voice interrupted him.

"That’s not going to happen. Not on my watch." Cloud still had his hand pressed against Sephiroth’s cheek, and his head was turned down to stare at hazy green eyes, his own blazing with determination and fury. "We left you alone before, and trust me, I – we _all_ – know how much you like your privacy, but this is more than that, this is about your safety."

He scoffed, "safety? I think–"

"Let me finish." Cloud hissed through his teeth, his hand finally pulled away from Sephiroth’s cheek and settled by his side in a tightly balled fist. His tone was nothing like Sephiroth had ever heard from Cloud before. Fury had spilled into the soft alto, like a tipped pot of ink, waves of frustration, worry and fear bubbling up and across the notes. "We’re worried about you. _I’m_ worried about you. And if you’re so damn _selfish_ , that you can’t even _consider_ letting us take care of you, if your pride wasn’t so damn important to you then–" He had begun to run out of breath as each word seemed to pull a pocket of air out with it. Zack’s hand fell forward in a comforting gesture, fingers curled over Cloud’s shoulder and squeezing before the infantryman could lose himself in his anger.

Cloud’s eyes met his own once more, "You were whimpering; calling out _no,_ and _why_ , and you sounded so… _scared._ " For the first time since the two had become _acquainted,_ tears pooled in the young man’s eyes, the edges of his eyes smudged and blurred. "And now, now _I’m_ scared. Sephiroth, _I’m scared._ "

 _I’m so sorry, Cloud. I’m so very sorry._ Hesitantly, he reached out, his hand searching for Cloud’s in the only way he knew how to comfort. Their hands grasped gently, his longer fingers curling around Cloud’s smaller ones and squeezing them tenderly.

Angeal had stepped back some time ago, after Cloud had started chastising him, and now stood with his arms unfolded at his sides, worry written across his features, "well…you weren’t kidding when you said it was hard to explain."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can probably tell, this doesn't exactly follow canon not just because of obvious reasons - I'm pretty sure Sephiroth couldn't see the future in canon but really, who knows with him? - also because Angeal and Genesis haven't deserted and Zack's a Second Class and already best friends with Cloud. What can I say? I like the whole gang together. Idk.


	3. In Sickness and In Health

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cloud is suffering, the Puppy's suspicious, Angeal knew something bad would happen, Sephiroth can't keep his composure and Genesis is a spitfire. So, the usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. In my defense I did say updates would be slow. Health issues, school work, exams etc. keep catching up to me, alongside a severe case of writer's block, but still. Sorry guys, I'll try to bring the next update out sooner than this one, but no promises.

It took an hour or so, but eventually Sephiroth and Cloud were able to shoo Angeal and Zack from the large apartment, along with the promise that they wouldn’t say anything to anyone – namely a dramatic red–head who would sulk over being the last to be informed, and demand to see Sephiroth immediately, most likely to mock him. As the sound of heavy boots hitting polished wooden floors vanished out in the hallway, worried murmurs following them, Cloud turned to Sephiroth, his hands fluttering about his head, one adjusting the cloth on his forehead, and the other hanging uselessly in the air, as he mumbled _is your head still hurting?_ and _is there anything you need?_ under his breath.

"It’s alright Cloud," he caught the blond’s hands in his own, "they’re gone now, you don’t have to do that." Cloud breathed out a surprised sigh of relief and slumped against the elder’s chest, his head lolling onto Sephiroth’s neck and his arms tucking themselves to their joined chests. His body was shaking with tension – and perhaps fear – which only caused Sephiroth’s guilt to intensify.  Sephiroth gently pulled him up and onto the bed fully, until their legs tangled, and he rested his head on top of Cloud’s yellow spikes as if he was a pillow. "I’m sorry."

Only a few months ago, he couldn’t have said that to him, to anyone, really. He’d always been a prideful person, his ego had sometimes run his mouth, and the sheer volume of his confidence – which was, in all honesty, warranted – often overwhelmed everything else. He’d held his heart and emotions as far from his sleeve as possible, and thus it was difficult for even the most tenacious of people to get close to him. Until, of course, two stubborn country boys – with slight lilting accents they tried to hide – dug themselves a hole, a pit, in his subconscious and burrowed there. It was only a matter of time before another – an overexcited, exuberant, enthusiastic young man – joined the two, and eventually a quiet, cautious little infantryman settled in too. It was humbling, the care the four had for him, and it led to apologies and grateful words he’d never expected to spill from his mouth.

"It’s alright." Cloud mumbled against his collarbone, his head still tipped into the other’s chest. It was comforting, for the both of them, to just rest here for a while, no more drama, no more sickness, no more _horrific and confusing visions of the future_ – well, for now at least. "What was that? Why were you…acting like that?"

He hesitated, mouth parted with answers he wanted to give the blond, and yet didn’t want to burden him with. How do you tell someone you can suddenly just see the future? And that the future includes you brutally murdering them, several times? It’s not easy. And thus he settled for, "it’s hard to explain," _infinitely more hard than you could possibly imagine_ , "I don’t really know what it was; a fever induced dream I suppose." _Oh how I wish it were a fever induced dream._

"Hm." The noncommittal sound Cloud hummed against his skin sounded skeptical; after all, his little infantryman knew him better than anyone else – which was surprising for the minute amount of time they had spent together in comparison to Angeal and Genesis, or even Zack. Cloud knew something else was happening, something was _off_ , but he didn’t know what yet, and thus he kept his mouth shut – a fact that Sephiroth definitely appreciated.

He’d just have to find a perfect time and place – _and way_ – to explain to Cloud what was happening, what he was seeing, what he had discovered. The real question was; _how long is it going to take to find that time, place and way?_

* * *

The rest of the week continued on normally, aside from the concerned glances Angeal kept sending him out of the corner of his eye – which caused Genesis to squint and grill the both of them for answers; answers they couldn’t give, and thus caused Genesis’ eyes to narrow further – the quieter tones that Zack used around him; akin to the soft murmur one would use when visiting a dying relative, and of course, Cloud’s doting. Each day – after Cloud’s own shift had finished – the blonde would knock at his apartment door, fresh ingredients in hand for soups and stews and other homemade dinners Cloud’s mother had served him as a child, and a bright grin on his face. Cloud’s concern was easily the most acceptable – because really, who doesn’t enjoy homemade meals and the cute little eye crinkling smile Cloud would give him when he praised his cooking? – and also because his was the most disguised. He didn’t flutter around him with narrowed eyes and concerned frowns, or study him like a specimen under a microscope; Cloud wasn’t just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

_No, Cloud is here to make sure someone picks up the shoe from the floor and dusts it off._

Even so, Sephiroth still found the near constant scrutiny irritating. He was infinitely glad none of them could read his thoughts, though. The images, flashes of scenery; missions, battles, blood, death, they still haunted him, as did the voice. It would coo to him, late at night, when he was on the brink of rest, vulnerable and sleepy, and would sing to him horrid melodies of _rest easy, my child, soon enough it will be over_ – as if his life now was something he actually _wanted_ to end – and, _we will rule them all, my son_. It was all rather disturbing; the hissing stutters of greed and envy, the soft lilt of derisive affection – he knew what it really sounded like now, Cloud had showed him – and the almost irresistible pull and tug the voice coiled around him. He was afraid of the hold the foreign chime had over him, he worried soon it would be stronger than the one even Cloud had over him. Handing over the reins had never been an easy concept for him to grasp.

He was sitting on his sofa, the television filling the air with the dampened voice of a dolled up reporter ShinRa had probably hired to mask the horrid state the world was sinking into behind bright lipstick and thick eyeliner, and was gently polishing Masamune. The rag he had in his hand smelled of wax and metal as it slid across the blade’s silvery edge, but created a mind numbing swish of sound that combined with the reporter’s soft, high-pitched droning, dulled Sephiroth’s perceptions until his eyes almost glazed over.

The gentle buzz of his PHS on the coffee table beside him snapped him back to reality, all the sounds of Midgar’s busy streets, the life in the SOLIDER apartment complex, the _schwick_ of polished metal against microfiber all came flooding back swiftly; fast and loud enough to be almost migraine inducing. Gently resting Masamune on the glass surface of the table, he flipped open the small device and scanned the message Zack had sent him;

_I’m about to head out to Junon for a mission, and Cloud just found out he’s coming too. He was dragged – literally – out of his dorm by his bunkmates, so he forgot his PHS. He just wanted me to let you know._

_Try not to miss us too much._

He snorted softly at the parting line, but a frown worked itself onto his features at the message; why would it suddenly be necessary for a platoon of infantrymen to be shipped out alongside the Second Class SOLIDERs? Lazard had told him the danger in Junon was minimal; merely a small infestation of monsters that the natives had described as _"rabid and blood-thirsty"_ , it was nothing five Second Classes couldn’t take care of. In fact the only reason so many had been sent was to gain experience, so why would they need assistance?

Shaking his head of the wonderings, he picked up Masamune from the table, and again lost himself in the droning and thrumming cadence of his surroundings.

* * *

It was nearly a week – a boring, quiet, Cloud–less week – later that Sephiroth’s PHS buzzed again. This time he had been sitting in his office, Masamune tilted against the wall as he scanned over mission reports, and the buzz was a welcome distraction. He noted the Caller ID, and with a sweep of his hair behind his shoulder, he flipped open the PHS.

"Angeal," he could hear the bustling and crackling of movement and the murmur of voices through the small speaker, "what has Genesis done this time?"

Ignoring the worryingly accurate jab, Angeal’s voice filtered through the white noise and static. _"Have you heard from Zack yet?"_

"No," Sephiroth paused, "was I supposed to?"

Angeal released a sigh, he sounded almost hesitant, reluctant, and it caused Sephiroth’s back to stiffen – whenever cool and calm Angeal got worried, generally all hell was breaking – or had already broken – loose, either that or Genesis had done something wrong. _"Just…"_ He sighed again. _"Go down to the infirmary, and please,"_ he must have heard Sephiroth rise from his seat and gather his sword – the power of SOLIDER hearing was almost inconceivable at times – and as such he was further worried, _"keep calm, alright?"_

"But–"

_"Alright?"_

Only Angeal and Genesis would ever dare to interrupt him when his tone was so cold, not even Zack was _that_ bold. "Fine," he grit out – if Angeal was telling him something was wrong, something was _wrong_ , and to go down to the infirmary? SOLIDERs only ever had to visit the infirmary if their injuries were almost fatal, so either Zack was on the brink, or Cloud was– "I’ll _keep calm_." The PHS slammed shut in his hand and he swept out of the room.

* * *

He’d taken Angeal’s advice to heart, and attempted to stay calm to the best of his ability. He hadn’t even cut open the mousy young man that had gotten into the elevator after him and shakily pressed the button for the thirty-first floor, though his hand did twitch to Masamune’s hilt. It was frustrating – to say the least – so he started counting each inhale and exhale until he arrived in the infirmary. By his forty–ninth breath, the man riding the elevator with him had pressed himself against the wall, by the fiftieth–third he had let out a small squeak of apprehension, and by the fifty–sixth, he was out of the elevator. It was on his seventy–eighth inhale – one hundred fifty–sixth breath in total – that the elevator doors finally cracked open with a small squeal of metal on rubber.

He swept into the infirmary with all the grace of a predator and stopped dead in his tracks. Zack was sitting beside a bed, eyebrows drawn and frown grim, lines and smudges of blood, dirt and – _was that mako?_ – across his face and ripped and torn uniform.

_So then – shit._

There were so many machines – too many – that were hooked into Cloud. A respirator was whirring softly behind Zack, the mask covering half of Cloud’s equally bruised and bloody face. He registered the quiet slosh of the blood bag and IV as background noise behind the steady _beep, beep_ of the heart monitor – that was really the only thing that mattered anyway. From where Sephiroth was standing, he seemed to be more bandages than skin, but he was awake, and he was _smiling_ – and in all honesty, _that_ was probably the only thing that mattered.

"Cloud," he sounded more surprised than anything, _it hasn’t fully sunken in then, has it?_ "What…what happened?"

"Sephiroth?" Zack too, sounded surprised, his head snapping in Sephiroth’s direction, hands landing on his knees and back straightening, "How did you know we were here?"

Sephiroth stepped into the room cautiously, eyes never leaving the blonde’s blurry, sleepy gaze, but his sharp peripheral sight catching Zack’s awkward frame. "Angeal informed me you were here."

He looked sheepish, one hand coming up off his knee to rub at the back of his head, an embarrassed grin working its way onto his features, eyes downturned and a wince shaking his frame, "ah, sorry about that," his eyes flashed back to him, a pleading look in them and his hands came together to clasp as if in prayer, "I wanted to call you right away but…I wasn’t sure how you’d react, so," another sheepish grin, "sorry."

Sephiroth swept away his worries quickly, "it’s no matter," he crossed the small white room in three hurried strides, reaching Cloud’s bedside and engulfing his hand with his own. His voice was hesitant, soft, and he made sure to keep his eyes locked with Cloud’s; to ensure he wasn’t lying, "are you alright?"

Cloud gave him a blinding grin in answer, his eyes blurred and hazy, "yep," his words were slurred and almost unintelligible, "never been," he paused to hiccup, the motion rocking his whole body unsteadily to one side, "better."

Zack leaned forward in his seat at Sephiroth’s questioning glance, his hands again on his knees, his thumbs stroking the rough fabric of his pants nervously, "they administered him some pretty strong pain medication," he turned his eyes back to Cloud’s quietly giggling form, "I’m surprised he’s still awake."

As if on cue, Cloud’s quiet snickering and muttering was choked by a particularly violent hiccup, and he was out like a light, head slumping back into the thin standard hospital pillow, his hand falling limp in Sephiroth’s, and his body sinking into the faded cream of the cheap sheets.

Releasing a silent sigh, Sephiroth felt around behind him with one hand for a chair, never once dropping Cloud’s listless hand. Once he was seated he again caught Zack’s eye from across the hospital bed and held it, willing him with threatening, deceivingly omniscient, malachite eyes. "What happened?" He repeated.

Zack cradled his head in his hands, an exhausted breath of air escaping him in a rush, "it’s hard to explain," another sigh, "so, we were just doing a routine check; exploring the area for familiarity, monster – and even human – crowd control, ensuring the campsite was secure, etcetera, and then Cloud starting complaining about this sharp pain in his lower abdomen," he glanced away from Sephiroth to eye Cloud’s unconscious form, "he seemed to be in a lot of pain, but he refused to stop the patrol and visit the onsite nurse, hell, he wouldn’t even let _me_ take a shot at it. It was a few hours later; we were back at the camp because we’d just finished our shared patrol, and then suddenly everyone was shouting at once." He leaned back again in his chair, hands still at his face, but now covering it, slighting muffling the words, but still coherent enough for Sephiroth’s sensitive hearing to pick them out. "Someone was yelling, _"fire! fire!"_ and then there was this _massive_ explosion – must have touched the clouds, I swear – and then the screams of the townspeople reached us; turns out there was a bomb," he paused and uncovered his face, assessing Sephiroth’s tightly sealed lips and downturned brows, his twitching cheek muscles and clenched jaw, "the commander assumed it was AVALANCHE, and so we were all deployed, it was all guns blazing. There were people everywhere, enemies, SOLIDERS, infantryman – I’m pretty sure some of the bolder, and probably more bloodthirsty monsters were there too – and it was utter chaos. I tried to stay with Cloud the whole time but, I lost track of him in the endless sea of moving bodies."

"So, he was injured during a battle with AVALANCHE?"

Zack’s jaw clenched, hands fisting in his lap, his voice tight and controlled, on a leash, "that’s what the reports say, sir."

_Well this is a change of pace…an unsettling one._

"' _sir'_? That’s different," still holding Cloud’s small hand in his larger one, he too leant forward, Zack and himself only half a foot apart now, the tension almost tangible, "and what do _you_ say, Zack Fair?"

Zack’s eyes darted around, flashing to each corner of the room – checking for cameras, Sephiroth realised – and then back to the doorway before his hands – still fisted – rested on either side of his mouth, hiding the movements from all but Sephiroth. "It was too convenient, all of it too well placed, too artificial, everything felt…planned. Fake."

"How so?" Sephiroth’s interest was piqued now, too.

 "There was this nurse – the one who came with the infantry – that was very, well, _strange_. She seemed to hold an eerie amount of interest in Cloud, and she insisted that Cloud have his _quarterly influenza injection_ , because apparently this year’s _“flu season is coming up"_ – even though I’m pretty sure it’s already come and gone, but whatever." His eyes darted around again, "and so she injected him with the vaccine, but it looked a little weird, and it smelled funny too," Zack sighed and ran a hand down his face, his other hand joining it to cover his mouth in a vague triangle shape, "it was an hour after that, that Cloud started complaining about the pain in his stomach."

The quiet tapping of a nurse’s flat shoes against the linoleum floor of the infirmary was thunderous in comparison to the hushed tones Sephiroth and Zack were speaking in; a cacophony of staccato rhythms, a litany of metal heel percussing against plastic. It shocked the two men back against their seats, spines straightened and shoulders squared, two sets of eyes darting around the room in nervous paranoia. As the young woman vanished around the corner – _once again, the wonders of SOLIDER hearing_ – Sephiroth focused back on Zack and unintentionally squeezed the pale hand in his own. "What exactly was – is – wrong with Cloud?"

Zack’s lips twitched, eyebrows pinching and eyes narrowing, "he was really pale, he seemed tired; even the smallest things would wipe him out, and he started getting these deep, bruise like shadows under his eyes. All in the span of a few hours, seems sus, doesn’t it?" After Sephiroth nodded his affirmation, Zack continued on, his eyes darting back and forth between Sephiroth and Cloud, almost fast enough to be dizzying, "the doctors said that his symptoms are rather strange. They said it almost looks like a severe case of something called _IBD,_ except instead of just bleeding internal ulcers and the other normal symptoms, his small intestinal tract seems to have worn thin to the point of almost snapping clean."

"So you think that…?" He let the question hang there, heavy in its impact, heavier in its implications.

Zack met his eyes again, "I don’t know about you, but that sounds like a pretty awful side-effect for a _flu vaccine_."

"Someone did this to him," Sephiroth could hear his own teeth grinding together in his mouth, "yes, I can see what you see Zack." He felt something snap in him; a tightly bound string, and suddenly everything was sharper and clearer. He had something to focus his fury on now, instead of the elusive and tenacious little empire that was AVALANCHE, this " _strange_ " nurse seemed like the perfect candidate, a perfect lead. He finally released Cloud’s hand – he was afraid he’d harm him if he held on too tightly – and instead balled his hands in his lap, crescent marks of blood staining his palms, "describe to me the _influenza injection_ Cloud was given."

Zack cleared his throat slightly, surprised at the sudden topic change, but ploughed through regardless. "It wasn’t clear like normal; it was tinged this really pale yellowy–green colour, honestly it looked kinda like snot," they both crinkled their noses at that, "and the smell…it was, rusty, and also like burnt rubber. It was kind of acidic – which burnt my nose a bit, and something else. Maybe salt."

"That’s…strange," it didn’t seem like the right word to describe it, maybe suspicious or sketchy or perhaps–

"I’m sorry, Lieutenant Fair, General, sir," the same nurse from earlier cleared her throat at the doorway, a clipboard clutched in her knuckle white grip, "but visiting hours are over now, but you can come again tomorrow to see Mr Strife."

Sephiroth and Zack eyed each other thoughtfully for a moment before rising from their uncomfortable plastic chairs and faced the nurse, "yes, thank you. We will be here tomorrow then."

* * *

"So, how’d it go?" The deep rumble of Angeal’s voice startled Sephiroth out of his focus; it was the second time in two days that he had interrupted Sephiroth while he did paperwork – and now the pile was growing substantially. He looked up into the faintly concerned features of the man before him, noted the firmly closed door behind Angeal, and gestured for him to take a seat.

As Angeal settled into the soft beige plush of one of the two available chairs, Sephiroth briefly recalled his little trip to the infirmary. He had yet to go down there today, however Zack had, and he had informed him that Cloud was _"a-o-kay"_ – he’d have to assess that for himself when he’d finally cut through the stream of paperwork.

"It was fine," he grit out, recalling the shady nurse Zack had described, and the interesting side effects Cloud was suffering through from a supposedly _harmless_ vaccine, "nothing to worry over."

Angeal raised an eyebrow, but said nothing; it was both unfortunate and fortunate that the man was nothing like his childhood friend – _in this case definitely unfortunate_ –he wasn’t compulsive, he would wait until Sephiroth told him the truth.

Silence settled over the office for a few moments, both men staring rather defiantly at each other. When the steady ticking of the clock chimed like a heartbeat in the roaring silence, a heavy sigh huffed through Angeal’s pursed lips, and he leant forward, his hands resting lightly on his knees. "Genesis is getting more suspicious by the day," his burly frame rocked forward and up as he stood, "just be aware; his temper is rising with his paranoia." And with that he swept out of the room, furrowed brows still tilted in Sephiroth’s direction. Sephiroth released a breath of his own, slim strands of silvery hair fluttering up and away from his face.

_The clock seems to be getting louder and louder._

The rhythm of the ticking hands was resonating in his chest, a steady cadence of rattling bones and pulsing tendons that caused his hands to shudder and his teeth to knock. He stared down at the half–signed form before him, and noted the once bleached white page was now an off–mint colour. The tremors in his hands were worse than ever. A sickeningly familiar flutter slithered down his spine, insects crawling incessantly between the layers of his skin.

The office surrounding him shook and rolled in dizzying hues of bright jade, pearly silver and charcoal black.

His gloved fingers were longer than he remembered, akin to spider’s legs, and were splattered with fresh blood. The crimson had seeped into the worn black leather until a dull maroon covered his hands in splotches. Steel coloured strands of hair were threaded through his fingers, coarse and rough even through the gloves, and taut with the strain of holding up deadened flesh and plated metal. It swung gently in his clenched fist, gritty tresses sweeping the floor as he swayed on his feet.

A swift glance down confirmed the ache in his chest; a gaping wound, blood and torn skin, splintered bones and slashed organs. Harsh panting filled the room, along with the distinct whistle of blade through air, then the clang of metal meeting metal.

He lost himself in the image of the grotesque severed head gripped in his hand, the wispy trails of mako floating up from the reactor’s core, the noxious murmurs of _you found me_ and _let them burn_ ringing in his ears until he noticed the familiar sensation of Masamune piercing through soft flesh, grating bone and firm cartilage.

Once again Cloud was hanging off the edge of his blade, feet scraping the ground with every gentle swing and face contorted in agony. Sephiroth grit his teeth, hands shaking – with something he wasn’t entirely sure was terror, which was worrying – and yet the whispers continued in his ears, ever consuming and overwhelming.

Cloud’s feet hit the metal floor with an audible _smack_ that echoed in the largely empty chamber. A hoarse, cracked yell of _do it, Cloud_ sounded from the hall beyond them – _Zack?_ – and then Cloud gripped Masamune with shaking, determined hands.

It was odd that the mutilated cadaver remained in his hand even as he hit the surface of the mako, but not really that surprising.

* * *

"You seem high-strung," Cloud’s words were still slurred from the array of medications pumping through his veins, but at least he was coherent now, "is something the matter?"

_Oh, I just had another vision of your death at my hands, and became a first-hand witness to my own sadistic insanity. Nothing special._

He jerked his head from his hands, palms swiping down his face to gain some semblance of composure. "My apologies, Cloud. I’m merely tired." His much larger hand gripped Cloud’s, black leather engulfing the porcelain skin.

_These look like the same gloves I was wearing in the–_

He ripped his hand away from Cloud’s, tremors wracking his extremities.

"Sephiroth?" Cloud sat up slightly, pillows sliding down the bed frame until they rested against the blond’s lower back, "what’s wrong?"

"I–"

"Yes, Sephiroth, _what’s wrong_?" If there was ever a time Sephiroth was thankful for Genesis’ presence, it was _not_ then. Genesis swept into the cramped infirmary room, all swishing red leather, squeaking combat boots and flippant auburn hair.

Sephiroth rested his face in his hand, elbow resting heavily against his knee, "I suppose you spoke with Angeal, then?"

Genesis’ jaw clenched, brows rigid, slanted lines, " _if you could even call it that_ ," he hissed through locked teeth. "It was barely a conversation," he turned sharp blue eyes on Sephiroth, "all because _you_ won’t tell me a thing!"

"Listen, Gen–"

"No _you listen_ , just what the hell is going on here? What has been wrong with you lately? And why is your little cadet _here_?" Cloud’s head was swinging back and forth between the fiery red–head – who was becoming more livid as the seconds passed – and Sephiroth’s hunched form.

A sweat broke across his brow as Genesis strode closer to his bed, he could feel his hands trembling and a foreboding ripple of aching pain swept across his tender abdomen. "Seph?" His voice was smaller than it had been, there was a hesitant waver that hadn’t been there before, "you aren’t still…sick are you?" The pain had increased.

Sephiroth’s brows furrowed down at him, curious, before a cold indifference that made Cloud stiffen settled across his features, "no," the apathetic tone caught even Genesis off guard – _when the hell did he talk to Cloud – any of us – like that?_ – "of course not."

One of Cloud’s hands fluttered down to his lower stomach, the muscles tensing and tightening beneath his own soothing touch, his whole arms shook, and he fought to keep the whimper that bubbled up his throat down. _What the hell is wrong now?_

"’Sick’?" Genesis’ sharp azure eyes flickered across Sephiroth’s face, "you were _sick_?" His arms crossed dismissively over his chest, auburn hair flicked from his eyes and hands clenching tight around his biceps, "that’s ridiculous. You don’t _get_ sick."

"It was…a mako injection." Sephiroth mumbled, silently pleading that Cloud could keep his mouth shut with all those lip–loosening drugs pumping through his system.

"But you don’t have mako injections for another–"

 "It was scheduled for an earlier time," before Genesis could argue again Sephiroth’s eyes flickered up, catching equally mako bright eyes, "I’m going on a mission when my next mako injection is, so…I thought I’d schedule it for an earlier time."

He could tell Genesis was going to protest further by the arch of his eyebrows and his clamped jaw, but a sudden and pained groan from Cloud startled the two into glancing at him. Cloud was hunched over himself, his arms curled protectively around his lower abdomen, his face was hidden by shadow, but the rasping shallow breaths he was choking on said enough.

"Cloud?" Sephiroth was on his feet in seconds, one hand fluttering uselessly near the blond’s head, the other stroking down his back – _it seems our roles have been reversed_.

"I’m fine," he gasped, a harsh cough grated through his throat, followed by a full–body shudder, "I’m fine." His fingers tightened around his midriff, a strained moan escaping clenched teeth. Genesis took a step forward in concern, hands falling to his sides.

 His heart rate had spiked, as the staccato beeps had risen in urgency. Sephiroth could hear the swift tapping of leather soles against linoleum and knew nurses were approaching.

"You’re going to have to leave now, gentlemen." The brunette nurse’s voice was soft and calm, but with a hard, pressing edge to it that left no room for argument. Genesis promptly stalked out of the room, and Sephiroth soon followed – after a soft kiss to Cloud’s feverish forehead and a worried squeeze to his smaller hand.

"What’s happening, Sephiroth?" Genesis was leaning gracefully against the wall, arms crossed and voice gentle. "What aren’t you telling me?" His eyes were calm now, rationality overpowering jealous fury.

Sephiroth barely gave him a glance as he strode out of the infirmary. A sinking, icy feeling had settled between his ribs, a flooding of unfamiliar fear and irrational fury through his mako–filled veins. His shoulders were tight with tension, sharp fingernails digging crescent–moons into his calloused, porcelain palms, and his head was hung low, chin bumping into his collar bone with every abrupt, practiced step. His sickly malachite eyes caught Genesis’ for a moment, before swiftly turning away.

"I’m sick."


	4. The Suffering And The Witnesses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The epitome of insanity is suffering, Cloud (And Sephiroth) thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow...the wait is inexcusable, I know. A lot of shit's been going on this year, and yes that is one of the reasons I haven't updated in so long, but mainly it's because I've had the worst writer's block I've ever had...just for this story. I don't know why, but for some reason, I find it both really fun and really, really hard to write this story. But yeah, I really am sorry about the wait (I've been feeling guilty about not updating this fic for literally months now, at least this will subdue my conscience for a little bit).

_"Hey Seph, it’s me, Zack,"_ a cough filtered over the steady crackling of the line, _"I know you’re not in the…best of moods right now but,"_ his voice was more hesitant than it had ever been, _"Cloud misses you, man. I promise, Genesis and Angeal haven’t been by since you left. I told them to leave it be."_ The faint sound of shoes tapping on polished floors, squeaking doors and stuttering machines overtook the line for a moment, a moment of silence Sephiroth didn’t think he had heard since he met Zack. _"He needs you here."_ And the line was dead.

Sephiroth hadn’t left his apartment in three days, hadn’t seen a soul in three days – unless the insistent voice in his head and the frightening blurs of days to come counted. He didn’t think they did.

_“What’s happening, Sephiroth? What aren’t you telling me?”_

He’d mulled over Genesis’ words for days, thoughts shaking in his skull like wasps, and yet still no answers came to him. He’d paced a flat line in his carpet, and chipped his fingernails back to the tips as he scratched at the leather of his sleeves. He’d worried – when he noticed the raw, bloodied tips of his fingers and the faint scratch marks across the black leather of his uniform – but that had faded like dye in the sun as the insidious voice in his ear screeched at being ignored. Was this insanity?

His head snapped up from where it had been resting in his hands. The dim, sickly green light from the street below was the only thing that illuminated the dark apartment, the muted sounds of traffic wafting up through the barely cracked open window. He couldn’t recall how long he’d been sitting there – head resting in his palms, feet planted firmly into the carpet and knees pulled up so his elbows could rest on them – couldn’t recall how he’d gotten there. He couldn’t let himself wallow like this, he thought resolutely, darting up from the couch and striding over to the window. He stared down at the bustling streets, people rushing about, trains surging across the rickety tracks, and contemplated exactly what he was becoming.

_This…seclusion. These jittery nerves and paranoia…it’s exactly the same. This is what I’m destined to become…this is what I’m becoming now._

His hands slammed against either side of the window, the reinforced glass shaking violently in its panel, the wooden frame creaking dangerously, “no,” he breathed, air misting across the surface of the glass like fog, “no, I can’t do this. I can’t become this.” His knees shook under him and he took gasping, shaky breaths that made his ribs rattle painfully. He felt like he was choking, in the dark, chilly air of his desolate apartment.

He stumbled to the coffee table, knuckles white when he clutched his PHS in his too pale hands, “Zack?” His voice was crackled, as if he hadn’t spoken in days, and he realised, belatedly, that he hadn’t.

“ _Sephiroth?_ ” He sounded relieved, excited even, “ _Are you okay? You sound weird. I’m so glad to hear from you, man._ ”

“Zack?” He gasped again, one knee colliding heavily with the flattened carpet beneath him.

“ _…Seph?_ ” He could hear Zack’s breathing pick up over the fuzzy line, “ _what’s wrong? You’re scaring me_.”

“Zack,” the glass of the coffee table cracked and shattered as his fingers clenched around the wooden frame, “I…” the sound of the glass splintering and raining down on the carpet was deafening in the thick silence of the apartment, “ _I_ …”

“ _Seph!_ ”

“Zack…”

_I’m sick._

* * *

“ _Uhh, Geal?_ ” Zack’s voice was breathless across the line, his panicked tone echoing around the office. Angeal was sitting at his desk, one hand clutching a mission briefing, the other hesitating over the phone as Zack spoke hurriedly. “ _I think we have a problem,_ ” he could hear the rustling of Zack’s clothes, the puffs of air escaping him – he was running – “ _like a really, really big problem_ ,” Zack’s boots smacked loudly against tiles, the tell-tale _ding_ of an elevator ringing in the background.

Genesis raised a brow from the couch across the room, placing one finger along the inside of _Loveless_ ’ spine to keep his place, eyes narrowing at the phone. ‘ _Problem?_ ’ he mouthed at Angeal, unsure if Zack was aware of his presence, and even more unsure if he wanted him there.

Angeal merely shrugged, eyes flickering down to the speaker of the phone, “problem?” he shifted in his seat, leaning forward as his eyebrows furrowed, “what’s wrong, Zack?”

“ _I, uh,_ ” Zack puffed out a breath, “ _I’m not even sure. Have you been in contact with Seph over the past couple of days?_ ”

He exchanged a glance with the other man, “no, and neither has Genesis.”

“ _Well, I tried to call Seph the other day, Cloud misses him, but he didn’t answer._ ”

Genesis sat up on the couch, laying _Loveless_ in his lap, his lips quirking in thought, “so he hasn’t spoken to Angeal, myself, you or Cloud since I last saw him in the infirmary?”

“ _No, I guess not. But, well…he called me a few minutes ago._ ”

“And?” Genesis prompted impatiently, he too shifting forward until he sat at the edge of the couch.

“ _Something’s wrong with him. He only said my name a couple of times before he hung up. I think I heard some glass breaking as well._ ”

Angeal rose from his chair, hand still hovering worriedly over the phone, “I assume you’re heading to see him now?” Genesis rose as well, discreetly tucking his beloved book into the folds of his leather coat.

“ _Yeah, uh…ya’ know maybe you guys shouldn’t come yet. Um…Seph wasn’t too happy with me when I brought you along last time, Geal. I’ll check on him first, and if I need help, I’ll call you guys, okay?_ ”

Genesis’ brows shot up into his hairline, outrage sparking in his eyes like fire, “but–”

“ _Can you guys check on Cloud, though? He wasn’t looking too hot when I left him. I’m worried._ ”

Angeal sighed heavily, pinning Genesis where he stood with a significant look, “alright, we’ll check on Cloud. But you _will_ call us when you get there, got it?”

He could almost feel Zack flinch through the phone, “ _will do, Geal._ ”

He pressed a finger down on the call end button, another coming up to massage between his brows in frustration. Genesis was – for once – silent beside him, the only sound coming from him was the tapping of his heavy combat boots on the thick, mahogany wooden floor.

They glanced at one another, frowns curling at their lips, before they turned and trudged out the door to the infirmary. They were still silent as Angeal locked the door behind him, and remained that way until they reached the elevator.

“So, _you_ saw Sephiroth when he was _sick_ last time?” Angeal could hear the sneer in Genesis’ voice, even though the man was standing behind him. He released another heavy sigh and felt a headache pounding at his temples.

“ _Well?_ What is your excuse for not telling me, _Angeal?_ ”

_Oh great. Thanks a lot, Zack._

* * *

“Sephiroth?” Zack knocked gently at the General’s apartment door, nerves shivering along his skin like goose bumps. “Are you in there?”

He stood still for a moment, hand resting limp against the creamy coloured door, ears straining to catch any sound. “Seph?” He whispered, reaching up to grasp the spare key card hidden behind the fluorescent light beside the door frame, “sorry about this, buddy.”

The entrance hall of the apartment was dark and empty – so dark, even, that his eyes burned in trying to adjust – but the living room ahead was doused in sickly green light. He took cautious steps forward, feet thudding against the dark wooden flooring before he stepped down onto the plush, creamy carpet of the living room.

The window opposite him was slightly ajar, the wood of the window frame cracked from the centre up, as if something small but powerful had rocked into the frame with extreme force. Sephiroth’s signature leather coat was slung across the back of the chocolate couch, and the glass coffee table in the centre of the L-shaped lounge was shattered. Beads of blood pooled across the carpet like raindrops, crimson drizzling down the shards of glass and reflecting noxious black in the green mako light.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, eyes drifting towards the open plan kitchen, and noting not a thing out of place. He eyed the drops of blood for a moment before following the trail out of the living room to the closed door of the bathroom. Bloody trails of lingering fingertips marred the doorframe, and Zack felt his heart jump into his throat. He knocked lightly on the door, “Seph?” his eyebrows scrunched and jaw clenched in worry.

He heard faint rustles beyond the door, clothes rubbing and the thick, heavy rubber soles of combat boots sliding frantically against tiles. The image of Sephiroth doing anything frantically was inherently worrying, so he swiftly pulled the door open.

Sephiroth was sitting in the corner of the room, back pressed against the corner of the bathtub and the wall, one knee pulled up to his chest and the other leg scrabbling against the tiles. His head was bowed, chin bumping against his collar bone, one hand clutching at his upturned knee and the other clawing against the wall, nails leaving bloody trails on the coffee paint of the wall.

Zack wasn’t sure whether he should leave Sephiroth to his space, or to come closer and inspect him. “Are you alright?” His voice was calm and steady, several pitches and volumes lower than usual and yet still ringing painfully loud in the silence of the room.

Sephiroth’s head snapped up, green eyes stormy, and head swivelling around like a wild animal. Zack raised his hands in surrender, face calm as he tried to placate the other. Sephiroth’s shoulders were twitching, his bloodied fingers scratching into his leather pants in a frenzy, and Zack felt something akin to horror at the image of his friend – the strong, proud General – curled in the corner, hands covered in blood, hair in a disarray, skin, milky pale, and eyes a frenzied tempest.

“Oh, Seph,” he voice was wispy and frail, the edges fraying and cracking as he eyed the other man, “what the hell happened?”

* * *

“Cloud?” Angeal called softly, his knuckles rapping gently against the infirmary door and Genesis standing solemnly behind him.

The blond’s head snapped up at the call, blue eyes hazier than ever. “Angeal?” He slurred, eyeing the two men, “and...a-and Genesis? Where’s…where’s Zack?”

Angeal frowned, stepping into the room before sinking into one of the chairs beside the bed, “Zack’s gone to see Sephiroth.” He raised his hand, palm out, to stop Cloud’s protest, “They’re both…fine. He’s just gone to see him.” He knew Cloud was a touch too intoxicated to notice his pause, and felt guilty that he had taken advantage of it.

Genesis raised an eyebrow at him when he sat in the chair opposite him, lips quirking slightly in amusement before he turned and appraised the sluggish blond lying in the bed.

Cloud’s head was lolling from side to side, his eyes barely following the gentle sway, and instead keeping a hazy, listless focus on the edge of his bed. His skin was sallow, like a film of tightly stretched silk, his blue and green veins a maze beneath the veil, the bags below his hollow eyes a bruised purple.

“You’re not looking too good, Blondie.” On the surface, Genesis’ voice sounded mildly amused, condescending even, however Angeal – and even Cloud, in his inebriated state – could hear the concern swimming under the current.

Angeal nodded in agreement, “you’re not getting any better?”

“Something like that,” Cloud muttered, teeth gnawing at his blue tinted lips, “the doctors don’t…don’t know what’s wrong,” he sunk back into the headboard behind him, head lolling to face Angeal before coming to rest, “they can’t really…figure out what’s wrong with me.”

“But it’s getting worse?” Genesis inquired, leaning forward slightly.

“Uh…yeah…”

Genesis and Angeal shared a look, forehead’s creased in thought, before Cloud let out a wet, rasping cough followed by a pained groan, and they turned back to him. The blond was curled into himself, hands resting on his stomach with his fingers clenched into the dull white hospital gown. His eyes had misted over into a jaded grey, the pupils dilated until only a thin strip of foggy colour was visible. “I’m getting…worse. I can’t…can’t,” he inhaled a deep, shuddering breath, “…focus…”

“It’s gonna be okay, Cloud,” Angeal said gently, “Zack and Sephiroth are going to–”

“Is Sephiroth alright? Zack said…Zack said that he was...secluding himself.”

“Sephiroth’s fine.” Genesis said shortly, a huff of air escaping him as he crossed his arms.

Angeal shot Genesis a warning look, “Sephiroth just needs a bit of alone time, he wasn’t…feeling all that great, but he should be fine now. Zack’s gone to check on him, they’ll be back soon.” He patted Cloud gently on the forearm, before reiterating, “everything’s going to be fine.”

Cloud looked up at the two, ashen skin taking a grey quality as he choked back a cough behind clenched teeth, “I’m glad you guys are here for me, and for Sephiroth, but,” his shoulders shook with the strain of holding back the violent fit, “I feel like this time…this time things aren’t going to work out so well for us.”

* * *

“Cloud?” A breathless voice called from the hallway, husky from exertion.

Angeal and Genesis looked up at the doorway and stared at Zack as he stumbled into the room. His hair was ruffled and astray, his eyes wild from adrenaline and chest rising rapidly to draw raspy breaths into his lungs.

“How is he?” He coughed lightly into his hand, fingertips smearing a splatter of drying blood on his cheek across his nose.

Angeal gave him a grim frown, “You weren’t joking when you said he was getting worse.”

Zack gave a breathless sigh, “yeah,” before he sat heavily on the edge of Cloud’s bed.

Genesis quietly cleared his throat, snapping his book shut and straightening in his seat as he tucked the paperback into his jacket. “So, what the _hell_ happened to you?” He eyed the younger man critically, lips curling in distaste as he noticed more blood littering his deep purple knitted shirt.

“Oh yeah,” he scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, “sorry. I forgot to call you.”

Angeal pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation, “yeah, we noticed,” he shared a quick glance with Genesis, “but more importantly, why do you have blood on you?” He appraised Zack’s dirtied uniform and blood stained hands with furrowed brows.

“Seph wasn’t…” Zack swallowed nervously, fingers pulling at the off-white threads of the cheap infirmary blankets, “…feeling too hot when I got there, but he’s okay now.”

Genesis leaned back in the squeaky plastic chair, “what happened?”

“Ah…”

_Zack kept his hands held high in the air, lips pursed in worry as he carefully tip-toed over to the curled up man. “Do you want me to leave, Seph?” At the other’s hesitant head-shake, he pulled his arms back into his torso and took another step._

_He crouched in front of Sephiroth, his hands resting on his knees, and drew in a deep, calming breath. “Seph,” he breathed, a patient little smile curling at his lips, but worry brimming along his bottom eyelids, “what happened?”_

_A choked rasp gurgled in the other’s throat, bouncing against the inside of his clenched teeth, “Zack,” he gasped, “y-you’re here.”_

_Zack gently pulled Sephiroth’s clenched, bleeding fist away from the wall and held in it his own, “of course I’m here,” he pulled the other hand into his own as well, “I’m your friend, there’s no way in hell I’m leaving you here,” he smiled softly at the startled man._

_Sephiroth’s chapped lips twitched, the blood settled along the sharpened cracks agitated into movement. He kept his lips pursed, but the sharp pulse of light in his eyes spoke in more volumes than he ever could. Zack pulled the general up and to his feet as he rose, his hands steady against the underside of Sephiroth’s arms as he swayed. “Easy there,” he muttered, as the other jolted away from the cold tiles behind him and into Zack’s chest._

_Zack still held his arms to steady him, even though the taller man had leant against his chest in something like shock. He could feel Sephiroth stiffen and square his shoulders – preparing to move away – so Zack gripped his arms tighter and pulled him in. “You’ll be okay,” he muttered into the other’s shoulder, “we’re here for you. You better remember that, Seph.”_

_The other was still stiff in his arms, but in a weak tone, he muttered “thank you,” into Zack’s hair._

_“Alright,” Zack pulled back, a bright grin on his face before it settled into a more serious expression, “let’s get you cleaned up,” and he slapped him lightly on the shoulder._

“…nothing much. He’s fine now.”

Angeal shot him a stern look, and he was sure if he turned his head to the left, Genesis would be glaring holes into his forehead, but Zack was more focused on the way Cloud’s eyelids fluttered minutely under the glaring fluorescent lights. “He looks worse than when I left him.”

It was Angeal’s turn to shift uncomfortably, but he held his head high, “he said the doctors don’t know what’s wrong with him, which is always worrying.”

“When he was first admitted, they thought it was a disease affecting his intestinal tract,” Zack sighed, “but it’s getting worse and worse, and the medication they’ve given him to decrease the inflammation isn’t doing anything.”

Cloud let out a quiet groan in his sleep, his small – smaller than usual – figure twisting on the bed as he shifted. His thin, pale fingers squeezed the cheap material of his hospital gown into knots, but his eyes remained glued shut.

Angeal and Genesis rose from their seats – Genesis brushing dust from his shoulders and tucking his beloved book back into the folds of his jacket, and Angeal wiping a crease from his pants and shoving his hands deep into his pockets – and eyed Zack from his seat on the edge of the bed. “How…fruitful would it be to visit Sephiroth?” Genesis asked carefully.

“He’s resting now, so I wouldn’t bother,” Zack said quietly.

Angeal clapped a hand on Zack’s shoulder, and with that they left.

He laid a gentle hand on Cloud’s bony kneecap and stared mournfully at the unconscious blond, “what the hell is going to happen to you, Spike?”

* * *

“Lieutenant Fair?”

Zack shot up from his seat, his eyes wide and his fists ready, “wha?” His eyes flashed up and caught on a petite, brown haired nurse standing on the other side of Cloud’s bed, a clipboard clenched in her hand and a frown on her face. “Oh, uh, yeah?” He asked sheepishly.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” _she doesn’t look sorry at all_ , “but I have a couple of questions I need you to answer.”

“Uh, sure.”

“Hmm,” she said, flicking through the papers on her clipboard, “firstly, what was the weather like on your mission?”

He raised a brow and shifted in his seat, but answered none-the-less, “uh, it was pretty mild, warm and kind of sunny. It rained a bit on the last day we were there, but it was still pretty mild.”

She scribbled something down on the clipboard with a hum before flicking over the page again and clearing her throat, “okay, and…was the campsite near any bodies of water?”

He scratched at his temple, “uh,” his eyes rolled up to the ceiling in thought, “there was a stream that ran along the edge of the campsite, and at the end of it, there was a small swamp, I think.”

She furrowed her thin brows, but scribbled some more on the clipboard, “do you remember what kind of plants were near the campsite?”

“There were,” he cleared his throat softly, “a lot of vines, um, and these little white flowers that grew on these stalk thingies, um, and some–”

“Wait, were these flowers in a circular pattern on the end of the, ah, _stalk thingies_?” 

“Uh, yeah.”

Her hand moved frantically across the page before she quickly placed the clipboard and pen on the edge of the bed, and reached over to grab the chart clipped to the end of Cloud’s bed. She flicked through the pages even faster than previously, all the while muttering under her breath as she read.

Zack shifted forward in his seat until he was at the edge, “what is it?”  

She sounded breathless as she looked back up at him, “I think I might know what’s wrong with your friend.”

His breath caught in his throat, “really?” a grin pulled at his lips and crinkled his tired eyes, “are you serious?”

“I’m not entirely certain, but,” she pursed her lips and turned back to Cloud before fiddling with some buttons on the heart monitor, “I think your friend has been poisoned.”

Zack felt the pulse point in his neck throb as he grit his teeth tightly and his jaw clenched, “poisoned?” _I knew it._

“Yes, by the sounds of it, the campsite you were at had some cicutas.”

Zack startled and scratched the back of his neck, “okay, um, I’m not going to bother pretending I know what that is.”

A small chuckle caught in her throat, “a cicuta is a type of flower that’s very toxic, and based on some of the symptoms your friend has, it seems he may have come into contact with it.”

_What? A flower?_ “What symptoms, exactly?” He frowned, _maybe I didn’t know it_.

“Well,” she looked down at the chart still in her hands, “frontal lobe seizures, extreme abdominal pain, nausea, internal bleeding, fever and drowsiness.” She clipped the chart back to the edge of the bed, “there are generally other symptoms that occur with the exposure of cicuta, but they still line up quite well.”

Zack cursed mildly under his breath, running the edges of his knuckles along his top lip.

“What’s wrong?”

“Ah, nothing, I guess,” he said quietly. He looked up at her from his hunched position, “I just could have sworn…”

She raised a brow, “sworn?”

He dragged his hands down his face before licking his dry lips and clearing his throat, “could have sworn that there was something…different behind this.” He watched as she tilted her head in thought, but before she could question him, he changed the subject. “So now that you think it’s some poison flower, what can be done to treat him?”

She eyed him suspiciously for a second before grabbing the available chair behind her and settling in it with a small huff. “Well, there are certain kinds of medication that can be used to treat it, generally accompanied by supportive care.”

“Wait, wait,” he waved his hands in front of him quickly, “why do the other doctors think it’s IBD or whatever then?”

The woman huffed again and rolled her eyes dramatically, “because the doctors here refuse to think outside the box,” she crossed her arms tightly, almost childishly, “and because they’re so intent on gaining the favour of bigshots in the Science Department they can’t focus on _actually helping their patients_ ,” she sneered.

Zack felt anger twist and curl in his gut, “that sounds about right,” he grit his teeth again.

“Oh,” she sighed, “right. I almost forgot,” she stood again and collected her things, “I’ll need a blood sample from you.”

“Me?”

“Yes,” she hummed, “I want to check if you have any toxins in your blood as well. You were both at the campsite at the same time, it would be strange if you haven’t been affected at all.”

He leaned back in the chair with a sigh and ran his hand through his hair, “okay, come let me know when you need it.”

The brunette nodded promptly before turning and striding from the room, purpose rolling along the line of her shoulders.

* * *

He felt something cool and impossibly soft brush against the back of his hand, something rubbery and spongy and so very _different_ from the cheap, scratchy hospital sheets. Cloud’s eyelids fluttered, his eyes roving beneath the thin, bruised skin for a moment before his eyelashes met his brow bone. He stared up at the sterile white ceiling, uncomprehending, until his eyes finally dilated and he squinted in shock.

“Your reaction time is very slow,” someone said lowly, off to his right, “…that probably isn’t good.”

He made an incomprehensible noise somewhere in his throat as he slowly turned his head away from the stark, white light. His eyes followed the odd sensation on his hand until he spotted a slender woman standing at his bedside, her hands covered with off-white rubber gloves as she adjusted his IV. “How’re you feeling today, Mr Strife?”

“Ah…” there was a fog that had settled over his mind, and it was impossible to cut through it, even with the glaring fluorescent light above him, “…f-fine.”

She smiled gently at him as she placed his hand back over his chest, “you sure seem it.” In his inebriated state he almost missed the sarcasm, but as she raised an amused, brunette brow, he pondered if he looked as bad as he felt.

“Listen,” she placed a gentle, gloved hand on his cheek until he tilted his too heavy head towards her, “I have a theory about what happened to you, so I’m going to try to fix this. Fix you. Okay?”

“Unh…okay.”

She nodded her head firmly, seeming pleased at his – barely conscious – affirmation. “I’ve taken a blood sample from you so I can run some tests. I’ll be back soon to check on you, but I don’t know how long it’s going to take me to find some answers.”

Cloud nodded mutely, his head rolling further on his shoulders until it lolled back onto the pillow. With another gentle sweep along his cheekbone, the woman was gone, and Cloud was left to stare at the blank, seashell wall that was slowly turning an off mint colour and swirling and blurring around the skirtings and–

Nausea plunged through Cloud like an elevator dropping, and he curled into himself with weak limbs. His fingers shook against his chest, the bones rattling and jolting in their places, creaking and cracking like dried branches in heavy winds. He could feel tears pool along his bottom eyelid, warm drops dribbling down his cheek. The IV drip was too loud, _too loud,_ echoes of liquid splashing inside the thick, translucent plastic, like glass shattering on polished wood. His blood was pumping through his constricted veins in stuttering beats, the unsteady pulse of energy through Materia, rays of sun catching on rusted metal and cracked glass.

He reached out to push the button next to his bed with desperate hands, but as his fingers brushed against the bright red plastic, spidery, leather covered fingers curled around his wrist and _squeezed_. Cloud’s head shot up in surprise. Sephiroth was standing over him, a skeletal, glove covered hand clenched around his own bony wrist. He was bone white, his hair more dull grey than glossy silver, and his green eyes sickly pools of glowing mako.

“Seph?” He croaked.

A manic grin curled around the other’s lips, “hmm?” There was something twisted in his voice, like a thorn caught in a whirlwind of roses, a drop of poison in a well.

The too loud IV was still tick-ticking away like a clock just behind him, but he could also feel the liquid dribbling down the in-seam of his spine. The walls still curled and twisted around on their axes, the light above both too bright and too dark, everything was blurred and fogged and muddy like the lens of an unfocused camera except for–

–Sephiroth. The man was as much the centre of his vision as usual, but something about him made it seem as if he was tilting ever so slightly to the left. As if the world itself was tilting in his direction like a head bowed, as if the core of the planet had shifted up and around his ankles like a thick band of leather.

“W-why–” there were shards of glass in his trachea – shattered, liquid sand pouring into his lungs and filling his veins until they were as heavy as lead.

Sephiroth leaned over him until his hair fluttered like a curtain around the two of them, blocking out the light. He hummed low in his throat, “now, now, Cloud. Let me remind you.”

Cloud felt hands curl around his throat like vines; ones he couldn’t wrench free from no matter how much he struggled. He felt a shot of betrayal through his stomach when glanced down and saw they were his own. “R-rem-mind–”

Sephiroth leaned back and bounced on his heels, a look of twisted glee contorting his handsome features, “remind you of what? Was that what you were going to say, _Cloud?”_ He leant in again, still balanced on the edges of his shoes and cradled Cloud’s face in his palms, “let me remind you of the pain you felt before.”

He was feeling light-headed, the very life being choked out of him by his own hands, “wha–”

Sephiroth brushed a feather light kiss along his blue-tinged lips. He tasted of blood and mako and metal. “I want you…” he stared up at Cloud from beneath his eyelashes, “…to beg for forgiveness.”

A sharp, ringing chime echoed in his ears, piercing and wailing like metal on metal and Sephiroth was gone.

He fell back to reality in a heap of limbs and blood – so, _so_ much blood – gasping and shaking. His chin tapped gently against his protruding collarbone and he stared; the crisp white of his hospital gown was thick and heavy, stained scarlet in blood. He gasped with what little air he had left.

“Quite the state you’re in, hmm?” A quiet, female voice muttered next to him, and as he turned his head a tall, gangly nurse pushed a thin needle into his IV drip. She turned to look at him with deep chocolate eyes and thinning, silvery blonde hair, “you’re a mess,” she chewed on a bright pink painted lip, “but I suppose that’s the point.”

She sidled up to him, a look of fascination in her dark, dark eyes. She placed cold, gentle hands on his temples in a grip that gradually tightened until her fingertips were nearly bruising his skin. She tilted his head up until she could stare into his hazy eyes. “Ah, another frontal lobe seizure,” she murmured, “worst one yet, by the looks of it.” Her breath was cold and minty when she leaned in closer, “hallucinations, physical seizing, crying…” a wicked grin curled along her lips, “just as planned.”

With another crooked, sinister grin and a firm pat to his shoulder, she slid out of his hospital room.

His vision blurred even more as he watched the bright green liquid drip into his veins. “Sephiroth–”

* * *

His phone ringing almost startled him into falling from his chair, but he quickly rocked back down to the plush carpet, and as his feet planted firmly on the ground, his fingers reached out and scooped up the phone from its cradle. “Lieutenant Fair speaking,” he answered cheerfully.

_“Ah, good I actually got the right number,”_ a female voice muttered over the line, _“it’s me; the nurse who’s takin’ care of your friend.”_

Zack leant back in his chair again until the very edge of the back rested flat against the wall, “any news?”

_“Well, yeah,”_ she cleared her throat suddenly, and the sound of shuffling paper stuttered in the quiet for a moment, _“I’m gonna need that blood sample from you as soon as possible, okay? Like, you better be in my office within the next 24 hours.”_

“Ah, yeah, sure. Did something happen?”

_“You could say that. Mr Strife had some kind of…fit earlier this afternoon.”_

He shot up from his chair so fast Zack was – distantly – surprised he didn’t rip the cord right out of its cradle. “What?” He quickly grabbed his PHS – why she had rung him on his barely used, old fashioned office phone, he wasn’t sure – “what the _hell_ happened?”

_“I’m not entirely sure; I wasn’t there. All I know is I went to check on him while his blood was being tested, and he was seizing in his bed, covered in blood he’d coughed up. I’ll explain all I can later; when you’re here.”_

“Shit,” Zack breathed, a hand combing through his hair and tugging.

_“Indeed. His condition is decreasing rapidly, in fact, since this afternoon, we’ve had to move him to the ICU. He’s on life support.”_

“I’m going to see him right now.”

_“Don’t bother. It’s not like he’s gonna be the life of the party right now, just come straight to my office. It’s the first right turn off the reception area of the infirmary. I’ll take the blood sample now.”_

He ran a hand down his face, “got it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am hoping (against my better judgement), that this chapter was good enough to justify not updating for so long...I'm thinking that's not the case, but still.


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